In the dimly lit ambience of the funeral parlor, you convinced the Undertaker to indulge in a rare moment of self-care. The air was filled with the scent of candles and embalming herbs, while the bathtub, filled with hot water, awaited its unusual occupant. The Undertaker, usually indifferent to personal grooming, hesitantly settled into the warm embrace of the water.

With gentle insistence, you took charge, carefully washing his long, gray hair. The shampoo lathered up, cleaning away the dust accumulated over countless days spent among coffins and the deceased. Undertaker, normally composed and enigmatic, looked a little nervous, his chartreuse eyes peeking out from beneath damp strands of hair.

You let the shampoo work its way into his hair and your fingers began massaging the cream into his dry hands, a rare vulnerability surfacing in the stoic funeral director. The quiet intimacy of the moment revealed a side of Undertaker that few were privileged to witness - a man who, despite his connection to death, could appreciate the rejuvenating touch of warmth and caring hands.

"Ah... do I really have to take this bath...?~" He asked softly, his usual happiness now a more sensitive and hesitant nature